


you're my super superhero!

by restez



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (im shedding tears), (there's actually a tag), Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Minor Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-19 00:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restez/pseuds/restez
Summary: "I just wanted to be like Ladybug.""Paris already has a Ladybug. What itneedsis a Queen Bee. What it needs is you."





	1. i don't like you (boo boo)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i haven't been caught up with the ml fandom for a while, and i have no idea how the miraculouses in s2 work. but i _did_ watch the epis about chloé because i've been wanting that redemption arc for Forever. but y'all...my girl got the shortest redemp arc ever (if you can even call it that). i was hoping for character development as powerful as zuko leaving the fire nation to join team avatar and ultimately becoming the leader of a nation he was once exiled from.
> 
> but WHERE?? where is the BDE (big development energy) i was hoping for?? to loosely quote a famous tweet: "frick, i'll just do it myself."
> 
> also: i'm really sorry if i get a bunch of little (or big) details wrong here and there. it's been a very long time since i actually sat down and watched the show, but i really wanted this fic to happen ;;

There are very few people Chloé Bourgeois hates more than Marinette Dupain-Cheng—and by “very few people,” she means “no one.”

It’s something about her hair, her clothes, her _voice_ —all unbearable, _absolutely_ intolerable—but no one seems to share her opinion, not even Sabrina. Marinette, despite her flaws (her major, glaring flaws), is the darling of their class, and everyone adores her.

(Frankly, the class would practically idolize Chloé if it weren’t for that pig-tailed menace. She’s got everything it takes to make people fall at her feet—the looks, the money, the reputation.

How all these things could get overlooked for one clumsy classmate baffles her.)

Adrien had been the one person Chloé had hoped would be on her side, but even he, in spite of how very little he speaks to Marinette (given her painfully obvious, painfully irritating crush on him— _him!_ _Her_ childhood friend; the girl has  _some_ nerve), harbors some sort of a soft spot for the girl who sits behind him.

Chloé has never kept silent about the people she dislikes. Only cowards put on an angelic disposition in front of their sworn enemies; and after having been stabbed in the back by one friend-turned-traitor too many, Chloé’s resolved to be as brutally honest, blunt, and scathing as she can.

People deserve to know their weaknesses.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng has plenty of them.

 

\--

 

Alya Césaire is only slightly less insufferable than her best friend, but her Ladyblog is one of the best sources for news about Ladybug, so Chloé sees a glimmer of potential in her.

Ladybug is Paris’s _gem_ , their beloved, invincible superhero who protects them from all evils. She’s the sole person Chloé admires more than her mother.

And to think! Ladybug is her _friend_! She has the photos on her phone to prove it.

Ladybug could never be someone like Marinette. She’s strong, courageous, and loved for all the right reasons; the two bear no resemblance at all.

Chloé thinks (wishes, hopes) maybe— _maybe_ —one day, she could become someone comparable to Ladybug, someone as amazing as her idol. Then, surely, her classmates (and all the students in France) would respect her more than Marinette.

 

\--

 

Normally, on Mondays, Chloé doesn’t rise with her alarm.

Every week, she’d let her clock shriek until her butler hurried into her room, carrying her breakfast on a silver tray, and shut it off for her. Then, he’d open the curtains as she crawled out from under her covers and shoved her buttered tartine into her mouth.

This morning, however, is different.

She’s up by 6:30 today, showered and dressed by 7, and seated at the breakfast table at no more than five minutes past the hour. Her bread, marmalade, and coffee are set immediately before her, and she’s already ordering Butler Jean Claude around while she munches.

“Remember to pick up my dress at the tailor’s today. Mother’s arriving from New York by five, and I want to be ready before she gets to the house.”

Her father had managed to book a reservation at an _exclusive_ restaurant for Audrey’s special visit home, and Chloé wants tonight to be absolutely perfect. She’d had Sabrina do her homework for two nights in a row just so she could search for the right dress. Her mother frequently complained about her fashion sense, and Chloé’s determined to stun her into silence for _once_ in her life.

But instead of agreeing to her command, her butler makes a small noise at the back of his throat and says, tentatively, “I’m very sorry, Madame Bourgeois, but your mother called earlier to inform that she will not be flying home today. There’s a fashion show she has to attend.”

The toast in her mouth suddenly sours.

Again—that bitter feeling of disappointment that sinks like a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. She’s not shocked or surprised, not really; her mother usually promises things and forgets them, and it’s a cycle she and her father have learned to grow accustomed to.

But— _oh god_. She feels embarrassed, getting all excited for nothing, making a total _fool_ out of herself in front of Jean Claude. _Shit, what am I supposed to tell Sabrina?_

Unnerved by the lack of response, her butler nervously asks, “Do you still want me to get the dress, Madame?”

Face hot, Chloé snaps, “No, I don’t! Why would I even need it now!”

He barely winces at her outburst. (In fact, any day where Chloé doesn’t yell at anyone isn’t a normal day.) “Of course; my apologies. I’ll cancel the order.”

“Get the limo ready while you’re at it,” she says brusquely, abruptly standing up from the table. _Might as well go to school early_. Her father’s usually out of the house around six, and she doesn’t feel like sitting around, getting pitied by all their attendants.

On her way back to her bedroom, she stamps down on the hot mess of emotions that rises up her throat. _So what if her mom couldn’t bring herself away from_ one  _fashion show to see her family after months of being away? So what if Audrey Bourgeois cared more about a couple of American models than her own daughter? So what?_

Chloé is far past the age of throwing a tantrum every time her mother breaks another promise to come home. If she were still six and sensitive, she might run to Adrien’s house as she had once done (to the utter horror of her father, who’d nearly sent out the entire police force out to look for her) and cry with him as they went through his stash of cookies in the pantry. But she’s not six anymore, and she’s a lot tougher now (and the state of her friendship with Adrien?—that’s something she tries not to think about too often).

She’s been called Clara, Claudine, and _Casserole_ by Audrey before, so this? This is nothing.

Chloé can handle this.

 

\--

 

Chloé cannot handle this.

The limousine, it turns out, isn’t _working_. Her chauffeur frantically puts the key in the ignition and tries to start up the car over and over, but the engine only sputters and coughs. Finally, he accepts defeat and peers out his rolled-down window. “I’m sorry, Madame Bourgeois, but there seems to be a problem.”

“I can’t believe this!” she wails. How could she be so unlucky within only a few hours of her waking up? Couldn’t _anything_ go right?

She rounds on her butler, who visibly flinches. “Figure something out! I’m going to be late!”

"Well,” he says, voice strained. “You could...walk, Madame. We’ll get a bodyguard to go with you.”

Walk. She, Chloé Bourgeois, the daughter of the mayor of Paris, France’s _capital_ , could _walk_ to school? The last time she’d gone anywhere in anything less than a limo or a luxury car, she’d been ten, and half the school hadn’t let it go for months.

She’d rather go back to her room and pretend the concept of school never existed than _walk_ there.

 _But_ , she thinks in despair, _isn’t there a science test today?_ Her grades are struggling enough as they are without her skipping out on an entire exam.

“Fine,” Chloé acquiesces, but not without an indignant toss of her head. “I’ll _walk_. Get the bodyguard.”

 

\--

 

It’s a goddamn wonder anyone can get anywhere on these crowded sidewalks. The hubbub of a city is a lot easier to manage from the inside of a car, Chloé decides, and a lot less irritating, too.

She orders her bodyguard to walk a little ways behind her, mainly because he’s so noticeable in his black suit and sunglasses that it wouldn’t take long for everyone to figure who she is. The last thing she needs is for some local trashy tabloid to think the Bourgeois family’s suddenly too broke to afford to shuttle their daughter to school in a limo. Rumors like that, no matter how unreputable, could destroy a career like her father’s.

Chloé bites back a bark of anger when a woman nearly mows her down with her baby stroller. In a mess like this, it’s a miracle no one gets hurt.

Then again, maybe it’s not so miraculous after all, because just ahead of her, Chloé spots a man sprawled out on the ground, the contents of his grocery bags scattered all over the pavement. No one stops to help him, even as he slowly starts to gather up his vegetables by himself.

Normally, Chloé doesn’t stop to help people like that, people who already on their way to solving a problem by themselves—but something about today’s disaster of a morning compels her to stop. Taking a deep breath and rolling her eyes, she strides over and picks up two bell peppers and a head of cabbage.

“Here.”

The man looks up at her in surprise. He’s pretty short actually. Even as he rises to his full height, he doesn’t even reach her shoulders. (And he’s also got an awful wardrobe, gathering from his red Hawaiian shirt and capri pants.)

“Be more careful next time,” she says awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the situation.

“Thank you,” he replies, but he sounds confused.

Chloé stands in front of him for another beat before realizing with a start that her bodyguard had materialized behind her.

“Madame Bourgeois,” he says curtly, “you’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

She casts him an irritated glance but doesn’t argue. “Fine.”

Readjusting her bag, Chloé turns back to the small man from before to bid him goodbye—

but he’s gone.

Bewildered, she looks around, trying to find him in the hectic crowd. There’s no sign of him.

 _Perfect_ , Chloé thinks. She decides to help a complete stranger out of the goodness of her heart, and she barely receives any gratitude in return.

With a bitter taste in her mouth, she half-walks, half-runs the rest of the way to school.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing happens in the first chapter, i'm so sorry D:
> 
> *(also, addressing chloe as mme was a conscious decision on my part! :> to my understanding, the use of mlle has been removed from official documents in France bc it unfairly differentiates between unmarried & married women.)
> 
> thanks for reading! please do leave kudos/reviews!


	2. beginning of an end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i'm really happy there are people interested in this story ;; here's to hoping the next few chapters will be worth it!

The school day passes by relatively peacefully until art class rolls around.

For their assignment, they have to draw portraits of other people—and Chloé gets paired up with Nathaniel Kurtzberg.

It’s not as bad as having Marinette as a partner (after what happened the last time they were grouped together, their art teacher doesn’t even dare to put their names in the same sentence), but it’s still _bad_. The whole Evillustrator fiasco aside, Chloé doesn’t like Nathaniel very much; given his crush on Marinette, he doesn’t come across as someone with very good judgment, and as a general principle, Chloé avoids associating herself with people like that.

When he places himself in the seat across from her, there’s an expression of discomfort written plainly across his face, like he’d rather jump through a hoop of fire than work on a portrait of her for an entire period. This stings her pride a little, but she refuses to let him know his reluctance affects her in any way. Her allowance alone could buy an art piece worth ten times more than anything he could sketch out; his opinion of her is trivial at best.

“Let’s get this over with,” she scoffs, flipping her ponytail with a flick of her wrist. Nathaniel doesn’t say anything in return, but he nods solemnly, opening his sketchpad with careful hands.

They both fall into silence as they begin to work.

(Or: Nathaniel works, and Chloé makes a half-hearted attempt at drawing a circle with eyes and sideswept bangs. If she’d been partnered with Sabrina, like she _should_ have been, she wouldn’t have had to work at all. Maybe Monsieur Dupont finally noticed Chloé and Sabrina’s art styles were suspiciously similar.)

Despite her animosity toward him, Chloé _is_ curious how her portrait will turn out. Objectively, she knows she’s pretty, and a mirror is usually enough to confirm that fact, but there’s something different about having the proof shown through a sketch. It’s astonishing that no other artist in their school has drawn her out of admiration yet, but she supposes having Nathaniel do it is the next best thing. He’s _good;_ she’ll give him that.

She finishes her crude assignment before anyone else, and after waiting impatiently for five whole minutes, she looks behind her to see if Sabrina’s done yet.

No such luck. Her friend is still focused on her drawing of Nino.

Chloé’s in the middle of deliberating whether or not to tell her to hurry up when Nathaniel says, rather curtly, “Could you turn back around?”

Startled, her attention snaps back to her partner, who's stopped drawing to fold his arms across his chest. “Excuse me?”

Not even bothering to hide his irritation, he huffs, “How am I supposed to draw you when you aren’t even facing the right direction?”

His attitude rubs her the wrong way. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

“Well, sorry,” he replies, sarcastic in every sense of the word, “but I’m trying to do my work, and you’re making it difficult.”

When had Nathaniel gotten so bold? Was this the same boy who had run from the classroom when she'd (barely) teased him for his comic about Marinette?

By this time, their little disagreement is catching the attention of everyone seated around them. The back of Chloé’s neck grows hot ( _not_ with embarrassment, but with indignation, with _anger_ ). “Then maybe you’re not as good of an artist as you think you are!”

(She knows she’s dangerously close to crossing another line, another boundary, but the words are already spilling—)

“Or maybe you’re only good at drawing Marinette.”

Nathaniel’s entire face goes red.

(Briefly, a flame of triumph flares inside her, but then something colder, something heavier snuffs it out.)

He stands up so suddenly that his seat nearly topples over. “I don’t have to deal with this—I don’t have to deal with _you_.”

Monsieur Dupont hurries over, clearly concerned about the noise. “What’s going on?”

Before she can even complain about Nathaniel’s _irrational_ outburst, he cuts in, “I can’t work with her, Monsieur.”

Their teacher frowns. “Why not?”

“She brought something personal up to embarrass me.” His cheeks are still flushed, and the exasperation in his voice is unmistakable.

A heavy look of disappointment settles over Monsieur Dupont’s features. He peers disapprovingly down at her. “Chloé, is this true?”

Defensively, she answers, “I mean—it’s not really _personal_. Everybody knows about his crush.”

Nathaniel stares at her in disbelief.

Monsieur Dupont sighs, and turning to Nathaniel, he says, “Just turn in what you have.” Then to _her_ , he says, “Chloé, step outside for a minute. I need to talk to you.”

“But Monsieur—!” she starts to protest.

“ _Now_ , Chloé.”

Seething, she throws her sketchpad down on her desk and stomps to the classroom door.

_God_ —her father should have shut down Collège Françoise Dupont when she’d asked two weeks ago. Or maybe she should have just gone to New York with her mother when she’d had the chance. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been disappointed this morning when Audrey cancelled yet another flight home. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to walk to school this morning because their stupid limo wasn’t working.

Maybe then she wouldn’t have to deal with her entire class antagonizing her.

 

\--

 

“He gave me detention!” she exclaims once class is over. Everybody in the hallway can probably hear her, but she doesn’t care. She’s _furious_. “Why me? What’d I do wrong?”

“Well,” Sabrina replies thoughtfully, “you embarrassed Nathaniel in front of everyone again, and this isn’t the first time you’ve fought with your partner in art class.”

Chloé glares at her, and her friend pales.

“I mean—I don’t know. It’s so unfair!”

Barely suppressing the urge to screech in frustration, Chloé storms into their physics class. “All I’m saying is that I didn’t _start_ the fight! He was rude to me first, so I was rude right back. And _I’m_ the only one who gets in trouble? Where’s the justice in that?”

She throws her things down onto her desk and falls into her seat. “He didn’t have to get so angry anyway! What’s his _problem?”_

Sabrina opens her mouth to agree, but her response is interrupted by a voice behind them.

“His _‘problem’_ is that you were horrible to him, Chloé.”

Great. Madame Righteous, here to save the day.

Chloé whirls around, fixing Marinette with a deadly glare. Both Adrien and Nino wince, but the girl seated behind them hardly flinches. She scowls right back, visibly peeved.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“You heard me.”

She rolls her eyes. “And? What’s it matter to you if I was horrible to him? It’s not like he’s your _boyfriend_ or anything, right?”

Marinette’s face turns a deep shade of pink. Beside her, Alya grabs her shoulder, urging her to sit back down, but she doesn’t notice. “You’re unbelievable!”

First Nathaniel, and now this. Everyone’s looking to start a fight today.

Tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, Chloé scoffs, “Stay out of it, Dupain-Cheng. It doesn’t concern you.”

“It _does_ concern me!” Marinette snaps, rising from her seat with her palms planted firmly on her desk. Again, a hush falls over the room; everyone stares at her with wide eyes. “He was Akumatized because of you! In fact”—Marinette throws a wild gesture toward the whole class—“ _plenty_ of people have been Akumatized because of how you’ve treated them! And you don’t even feel sorry about it!”

A knot of fury tightens in Chloé’s chest. _Who does she think she is? Ladybug’s representative?_ “How _dare_ you—”

“You’re just _awful_ ,” interrupts Marinette, and her voice sounds raw, like she’s speaking from her innermost emotions. “You boss everyone around and make fun of people, and you never apologize for it.”

“What do I have to apologize for?” she demands, springing to her feet. “If they can’t handle a few words of criticism, then it’s their fault, not mine!”

“Hey”—they barely hear Adrien as he interjects in a fruitless attempt to bring back peace—“come on, we shouldn’t—”

“ _Criticism?_ _”_ Marinette exclaims, appalled. “You think bullying people is _criticism?”_

“Who said anything about _bullying_ people?” Chloé responds, scandalized.

She doesn’t _bully_ people! She’s just honest and blunt, and she says what needs to be heard —just like her mother. It’s a sign of strength, of power, of _success_. People admire qualities like that!

Marinette looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “Oh my god, you don’t even realize—”

“Girl,” Alya says, gently tugging at her elbow. “Maybe you should—”

“You’re a _bully_ , Chloé. You always have been.”

Silence.

Chloé wills herself to fire back a retort, or at least squeeze in the last word, but her mouth feels as if it’s glued shut. The entire class is listening to Marinette’s tirade, and nobody stops her.

(It’s always like this.

No one says a word, until someone gets the guts to stand up, and then they all team up against her.

_Cowards_ , she thinks. _All of them._ )

“And the worst part is that you think everyone loves you when they _don’t_.”

At this moment, their teacher walks in. Startled by the silence, she looks from Marinette to Chloé, who are the only two in the room standing. “What happened?”

She wants to—

kick and scream and _fight_ , wants to bring Marinette down to the ground with her.

But at the same time, for the _first_ time in her life, she no longer wants the entire room’s undivided attention. Sitting back down in her seat, Chloé replies, “Nothing, Madame.”

People start to murmur.

Chloé fumes at the thought that they might be thinking Marinette’s won when in truth, the poor girl couldn’t be any farther from victory. She could drag her through hell if she really wanted to, but contrary to what everyone thinks of her, Chloé’s above being petty. A Bourgeois never makes a scene (—or, well, a Bourgeois _occasionally_ makes a scene, but knows when and when not to make one).

Madame Mendeleiev doesn’t seem convinced, but she doesn’t press upon the matter any further.

_This is fine_ , Chloé tells herself. She doesn’t need to take Marinette’s remarks to heart. Her opinion doesn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things.

Her opinion won’t matter when Chloé’s as successful as her mother; it won’t matter when _her_ clothes and _her_ designs are the ones being showcased on a runway, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng is only a nobody who once went to school with her.

It won’t matter then.

So this is fine.

She’s fine.

 

\--

 

Once the period is over, Chloé catches Adrien as he’s packing his things up to leave. “You have Chinese lessons today, don’t you?”

“Um, yeah,” he replies, closing the clasp on his bag. “Why?

“I wanted to catch a ride with you after I’m done with detention. Our limo broke down this morning, and I’m not in the mood to walk.” _For obvious reasons_.

Adrien slings his bag onto his shoulder and scratches the back of his head. “Well, okay. We can drop you off.”

“Great, I’ll see you then.”

She starts to leave, but Adrien suddenly stops her.

“Hey,” he says, a bit hesitant. “Nathalie told me about—well, you know. I just wanted to ask if you’re okay?”

He’s speaking quietly so no one else can hear them.

(Her heart swells, and briefly, she considers telling him the truth.

About how—how _confused_ she feels. Audrey hadn’t been an integral part of her life for as long as she could remember, and Chloé knows she shouldn’t expect anything from her; her mother’s casual disregard shouldn’t cut her so deeply, not anymore, not when she’s old enough to understand that this is just the way things are.

But it does.)

Chloé averts her gaze, sniffing in distaste. “I’m _fine_ , Adrien. Mother’s just busy. I get that.”

He clearly doesn’t believe her. They’d known each other (and each other’s parents) for way too long to trust empty reassurances and faux brave faces. “Chloé…”

“Look, I’m going to get in even more trouble if I don’t get going,” she interjects before he can say anything more. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Adrien stares at her for a beat longer, still unsure, but finally, he sighs. “Yeah, okay. See you later.”

Quickly, she turns and walks (with even, measured steps) out the room.

She ignores the heavy weight resting on her shoulders.

 

\--

 

“How was detention?” Adrien asks when she slides into the car seat beside him.

“ _Terrible_. All he did was lecture me about ‘respecting others’ and ‘cooperating with my classmates.’” She makes a noise of disgust. “As if _I’m_ the one who needs the lesson.”

All Monsieur Dupont’s chastising had done was remind her about all the injustices she’d faced today.

Adrien doesn’t answer, but Chloé continues, all her frustration unravelling now that she’s alone with someone she knows. “Dupont says Nathaniel doesn’t even want to keep his portrait of me after it’s graded, and that I can keep it.” She buckles herself in none-too-gently. “Are you kidding me? Why would I want to keep _anything_ he draws? He’s not _that_ good.”

Again, no response.

“And don’t even get me started on Dupain-Cheng,” she spits, crossing her arms. “Who does she think she is, saying all those things about me? I could sue her for defamation.”

Chloé looks out the window and spots the faint reflection of her petulant expression. In a high-pitched tone, she echoes, “‘You’re a bully, Chloé. You always have been.’  _Please_ , she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The car becomes quiet. Adrien’s silence doesn’t really bother her much, considering how little he contributes to their conversations nowadays, and she wasn’t looking for his input anyways. It’s just nice venting to someone who isn’t Sabrina for once.

To her surprise, however, he suddenly speaks: “Marinette’s got a point, Chloé.”

His words blindside her. Stunned, she faces him, mouth agape. “So...what? You _agree_ with her? You agree with all those horrible things she said about me?”

The edge in her voice startles him. “No!—I mean, yes, but—but not—not like—I don’t know.” He falls back against his seat, as if to surrender.

“No. Go ahead, Adrien. Explain,” she demands sharply, fists clenched. “What _do_ you mean?”

Nervously, he pulls at his seatbelt and meets her gaze. “The way you treat people—it...it isn’t right.”

Her fingers feel numb. She can’t even muster out a single syllable.

“You’re constantly making people feel bad about themselves and belittling them.” Adrien pauses to take a breath. “Marinette’s right. You’re bullying people, Chloé.”

Oh no. What’s this awful feeling rising inside her? This lump squeezing its way up her throat? When Chloé speaks, she sounds far away, distant and gone. “So you’re on her side, then.”

She’d known for a long time that her friendship with Adrien isn’t what it once was—but still. Still, she’d believed that he, of all people, would stand by her and _understand_ , even if she herself isn’t exactly sure what she wants him to understand.

“I’m not on anyone’s side, I just...don’t you see the way you act toward Sabrina? You make her do all your homework—”

“Why can’t you just be on mine?” she interrupts, voice rising. “I thought you were my friend.”

Adrien recoils, hurt. “I _am_ your friend.”

Chloé doesn’t acknowledge him, only looks straight ahead, staring into nothing.

“You’re important to me, Chloé,” he tries again, “and that’s why I’m telling you I just don’t agree with how you treat people.”

The words had been hard to take in when Marinette had said them, but they’re impossible to accept when they’re coming from Adrien’s mouth. Everything becomes a blur around her.

“Okay,” she manages. “Fine. If you can’t agree with who I am, then we don’t have to be friends anymore.”

Chloé knows better than anyone else that is the lowest and meanest way to hurt Adrien, and she’ll regret saying these words later. But right now, all she wants to do is to make him feel the same pain he’s making her feel.

Shock registers across his face. “Chloé—”

The car rolls to stop, and she opens the door before he can say much more. “Bye, Adrien.”

“ _Chlo_ _é_ —!”

She closes the door and runs off toward the entrance of _Le Grand Paris_ , pointedly avoiding the employees and guests milling around in the lobby. Once she’s safe inside the elevator, she nearly gives into her urge to cry.

_What_ had she done? Other than Sabrina, Adrien was the only friend she had. And she’d gone ahead and flushed that down the drain.

But then again, how could he say all those things about her? If she were as important to him as he claimed, then he should’ve understood that Chloé had never intended to _bully_ anyone.

People who are better than others criticize those who aren’t. That’s how the world works (—or at least, that how Chloé’s world has worked her entire life), and you just have to learn to put in the effort to earn the respect of your superiors.

That’s not bullying, is it? It’s self-improvement; it's a good thing!

The elevator chimes when it reaches her floor, startling her out of her thoughts.

Her bedroom is a welcome sight after such a long day, but there’s no salvaging her mood. She doesn’t know how she’s going to deal with seeing her father at dinner tonight. He’d definitely try to cheer her up about Audrey not coming home, and although Chloé rarely every refuses a present, she doesn’t think any gift can possibly make her feel better right now.

Dropping her bag on the carpet, she trudges up the steps to her bed, ready to dive underneath her covers and put the entirety of today’s events behind her.

But just as she starts to lift the blanket, something on her nightstand catches her eye—

a small black box, no bigger than her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **me, wearing a tinfoil hat:** hey so what if adrien and chloe still genuinely care for each other, but their friendship has become complicated over the years because their values have become drastically different? does that mean that if chloe goes through major character development, she and adrien could possibly become best friends again??
> 
> **mcdonald's employee:** ma'am this is a mcdonald's drive-thru


	3. bee honeycomb power make up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep this chapter was so difficult to write
> 
> fun fact: i listened to sailor moon's "moon prism power make up" theme while writing this

Chloé’s first thought is that the box must be a present from her dad, probably to console her about Audrey’s absence. From its size and shape, she guesses it’s most likely jewelry.

Looking at the clock, though, she realizes it’s way too early for him to even think about leaving his office. And aside from that, the design on the case is strange—it’s rather intricate and beautiful, but she can’t make out any recognizable name or logo.

But maybe her father had decided to buy her something a little different for a change. She already has an abundance of bracelets, necklaces, and rings from France’s best jewelry brands, and despite how much she likes them, the novelty of receiving them as compensatory gifts wears off after a while.

As for how the box had gotten to her room, maybe he’d gotten Jean Baptiste to bring it up for her. Considering how excited she’d been to dine together as a family, her dad probably thought he needed to get his present to her as quickly as possible to negate any feelings of disappointment she might have.

Curiously, she picks up the case and opens the lid.

For the briefest of seconds, Chloé catches a glimpse of a beautiful silver hair comb, shaped like a bee—

and then a blindingly bright light seems to burst from the box.

Yelping, she drops her present and stumbles back, nearly toppling over as she throws both arms over her eyes. Her mind races, unable to settle on a single thought. She’d never wholeheartedly believed in the supernatural, but _this_ is a bit difficult to explain away with logic.

When the light fades away, Chloé tentatively lowers her hands and peers over at the box, now on the ground a few feet in front of her. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, almost as if there had never been—

“Hello, My Queen!”

Startled, she looks up—

and _screams_.

Floating above her is a horrible, gigantic—

“Bee!” Chloé shouts, tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away. Not even bothering to stand back up, she scrambles down the steps, misses one, and rolls down to the carpet in a heap.

“My Queen!” the _thing_ calls out, flying even closer to her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh my god,” she mutters to herself, inching backwards fearfully. Had her day been more exhausting then she’d initially thought? Is it possible that she’s actually asleep right now, and all of this is only a dream? “The bee is talking to me.”

“With all due respect, _Ma Reine_ ,” interjects the bug, bowing her head, “I’m not a bee. I’m a kwami, and my name is Pollen.”

What should she do? Call Jean Baptiste? Her dad? _The police?_

“Okay, sure,” Chloé replies shakily, slowly rising to her feet. “You just...stay right there, Pollen.” She shuffles toward her bag. “I’m going to call someone—not about _you_ or anything, but about something _completely_ unrelated.”

“Wait!” cries the not-bee, zipping over to her backpack and hovering over the clasp. “Please listen, Chloé.”

Gasping, she hops back and snatches her shoe from her foot. Brandishing her new weapon, Chloé demands, in a voice that’s nowhere near as brave as she means for it to be, “How...how do you know my name?”

“As I said before,” Pollen replies, politely folding her hands in front of her, “I am a kwami, and _you_ have been chosen as the next wielder of the Bee Miraculous. I’m here to grant you my powers so that you can become Paris’s new superhero, Queen Bee.”

The last snippet catches Chloé’s attention: _Paris's new superhero_. It strikes a chord within her, speaks to a deep desire rooted in her very being—( _maybe one day, she could become someone comparable to Ladybug, someone as amazing_ _as her idol)._

Still, she's wary. Strangers are strangers, even if they're weird supernatural bees claiming to be called kwamis.  

But then again, could she really count on common sense in this situation? There isn't really a life tip for what to do when a UFC (unidentified flying creature) pops out of a jewelry box and tells you you're the chosen one.

Chloé takes a deep breath. She _could_ ask for more information—and if Pollen's explanation doesn't interest her, she could easily grab her bag and enlist someone's help to catch her.

With this reassuring thought, she finally says, "What’s a...Miraculous?”

Cautiously, so as to make sure Chloé won’t reach for her bag again, Pollen rises into the air and flies over to the fallen jewelry box. She picks up the hair comb from the floor, dusts it off with a gentle hand, and then brings it over. “Miraculouses are jewels that can transform anyone who wears them into superheros—only with the help of a kwami, of course. They were created a long time ago by an ancient Chinese mage so that kwamis and humans could communicate with one another."

Pollen places the hair comb into Chloé's open palm. "The Miraculouses have been guarded for thousands of years by generations of specially chosen people—but when they're not being protected in their dormant state, they're given to a chosen hero to be wielded responsibly."

Here, the kwami bows again. "The Bee Miraculous has been given to you because Paris needs your help. Have you ever seen an Akuma, Chloé?”

She hesitates. “You mean those bad guys Ladybug’s always fighting?”

Pollen smiles, but the gesture is tinged with sadness. “Yes. Each Miraculous has its own unique ability, and Akumatization is the special power of the Butterfly Miraculous. It’s intended for good, but its current wielder, Hawkmoth, is using it to manipulate the vulnerabilities of others. Your duty, My Queen, is to fight alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir to counteract the evil he’s done.”

At this, Chloé perks up, dropping her shoe to the floor. “Wait, wait, _wait!_ Are you saying...that _Ladybug_ has one of these...Miraculous thingies, too?”

The kwami nods. “That’s correct, _Ma Reine_. Ladybug and Chat Noir are the holders of the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses. Their powers are lent to them by the kwamis of creation and destruction, respectively—they’re the most powerful out of all of us. Legend says whoever possesses both of these Miraculouses at the same time will be given godlike powers, which is what Hawkmoth is after.”

Chloé’s only half-listening at this point. An electric buzz of excitement is swelling within her as she starts to pace the room. “So basically, you’re saying that _I_ , Chloé Bourgeois, get to be a superhero _with_ Ladybug? I get to work together with her to save Paris and stuff?”

“And Chat Noir,” Pollen affirms, bewildered by her reaction.

“Oh my god!” she exclaims. _This is much, much,_ much _better than some dinky ring from Cartier!_ “Oh my _god!”_

“I’m happy you’re so delighted by this news, My Queen, but—”

“I’m going to be best friends with Ladybug!” Chloé squeals. “Well, we’re already best friends—but now we’ll get to hang out and see each other more!”

“As you wish, but just remember that being Queen Bee is more of a duty—”

“Oh my god!” she yells again, and Pollen’s smile begins to waver. “Does this mean I’m going to get my own website, just like the Ladyblog? And a statue, too? And _fans?_ ” Chloé gasps. She looks at Pollen with wide eyes. “Do I get my own _costume?”_

The kwami looks overwhelmed. “I...yes, you do. Your...”

Her voice trails off as Chloé scurries over to the jewelry box and scoops it up from the ground. She peers into it, expecting to see a set of clothes somehow stuffed inside, but ends up finding nothing aside from the red cushion the hair comb had been placed upon.

Pollen laughs. (It's a soft sound, not quite a whisper, but close. It sounds like the kind of laugh that's bred behind a well-mannered hand, polite and respectful.) “Your suit isn’t like normal clothes, My Queen. You have to transform.”

(Chloé remembers being small and sitting in front of the television, watching magical girl shows with Adrien.

They’d been awestruck.

Her, a girl whose mother was—and is—thousands of kilometers away, enjoying a life apart from her family in a different country, probably speaking a different language. Him, a boy whose father was—and is—only a few yards away, shut in his office, but who might as well be secluded on a completely different planet.

Seeing a normal girl become a beloved superhero, vaulting freely over a city that adored her—they wanted that for themselves; maybe not for the same reasons, but definitely because of similar situations.)

“How do I do that?”

“You have to say—”

“Oh!” She claps her hands, unable to contain herself. “Do I get a cool catchphrase, like ‘Stripes on’ or ‘Wings out’?”

Once again, Pollen struggles to find words.

“Well,” she finally says, “no.”

Disappointed, Chloé deflates. “Then what?”

“All you have to do is call my name and say, ‘ _Transforme-moi_.’ And then you’ll become Queen Bee. You can stay in that form for as long as you want, as long as you haven’t used Venom yet.”

“Venom?”

“It’s your special power, just like Ladybug’s Lucky Charm or Chat Noir’s Cataclysm. As soon as you use it, you’ll have five minutes to get to somewhere safe before you de-transform.”

 _Just like Ladybug_ , she echoes, eager. “Just wait until everyone at school hears about this.” _Then we’ll see what Dupain-Cheng has to say._

( _And maybe,_ whispers the hopeful voice at the back of her mind.Maybe her mother will finally acknowledge that she’s remarkable, that she’s not just “Audrey Bourgeois’s daughter.”

She is, and always has been,  _more_.)

Pollen starts, and just as Chloé sucks in a breath to transform, the kwami stops her. “Hold on!—Chloé, you can’t tell _anyone_ about this!”

She stares. “Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous. If Queen Bee’s secret identity is revealed, Hawkmoth could come after you or anyone close to you. It’ll put you and all the Miraculouses in danger, especially Ladybug and Chat Noir’s.”

The explanation makes sense, but Chloé sulks anyway. “Look, you might not know this, Pollen, seeing as how you’ve probably been stuck in your box for a while—but my father is the mayor of Paris. He’s probably powerful enough to get this Hawkmouth guy arrested.”

“Hawk _moth_ ,” Pollen corrects. “I don’t doubt how powerful your family is, _Ma Reine_ , and forgive me if I’m speaking out of line, but my opinion still stands. It’s too risky to reveal your identity to anyone right now.”

“But…” _How will she prove everyone wrong?_

“You have to promise me, Chloé,” insists Pollen, “before you transform, that you won’t tell anyone about your identity as Queen Bee. _Please._ It’s for your and everyone else’s safety.”

She feels conflicted. The tight knot of frustration inside her tells her to scream and lash out, to demand for things to go her way. It’s what her mother would’ve done; it’s what _she_ usually does.

But the sincerity in Pollen’s eyes—it affects her more than she’d like to admit.

Besides that, screaming at a magical being who tells you that keeping your identity a secret is essential for your protection is very different from firing an incompetent employee for defying your commands.

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “I _promise_ to not tell anyone.”

Pollen’s concern turns into relief; she smiles. “Okay. Then go ahead and transform.”

Chloé’s heart pounds.

“Pollen,” she says, voice slightly breaking, “ _transforme-moi!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **canon:** chloe is only a temporary holder of the bee miraculous and also everyone in paris knows she's queen bee  
>  **me:**  
>  **me:** y'all hear sumn?
> 
> *(also, i love the unique transformation phrases in the eng dub, but i really wanted that "well...no" moment between chloe and pollen to happen lol. i also have a special place in my heart for the french dub/voice actors)
> 
> **tumblr [post](http://miraculousdaily.tumblr.com/post/150916368406/all-info-from-thomas-astruc-miraculous-japan) about adrien watching/imitating anime. huge thanks to @adeor for sharing the link with me ;;


	4. pre-debut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to be way longer, but i ultimately decided to split it into two since there'll be a lot happening in the next update. it's going to be an important (?) chapter so i didn't want to rush it D:

The next day at school is much more bearable.

Yesterday, she’d almost taken what Adrien and Marinette had said seriously—but her new identity as Queen Bee is proof that they were wrong when they accused her of bullying.

As Pollen had told her last night, bad people are never chosen for Miraculouses. Bullies are _bad people;_ Chloé has a Miraculous; so therefore, Chloé is not a bully, and Adrien and Marinette are wrong. Simple logic.

And though she has to keep quiet about Queen Bee for now, knowing Marinette isn’t as clever as everyone else seems to think she is is more than enough. Besides, revenge is a dish best served cold, and the longer Marinette continues to think she’s right, the more humiliated she’ll be when she finds out Chloé is Paris’s next Ladybug.

Keeping the secret from Adrien will be difficult, though.

He doesn’t even look at her when he comes into class, and though she’d expected this sort of reaction, she’s still hurt. They’ve argued countless times before, but she’s never said anything as harsh as she did yesterday; this is the first time Adrien has ever deliberately avoided eye contact with her. It’s enough to make her want to spill everything to him, anything to get him on her side and to see that what he’d said (and what Marinette had said) had been out of line. Then he would understand why she reacted that way.

But Pollen (who’s safely hidden in her bag) had been adamant about protecting her secret identity, and Chloé isn’t so tactless as to break their promise within a day of them meeting each other.

Aside from that, there’s a certain charm about having Queen Bee’s alter ego remain a mystery to everyone. In all the magical girl animes Chloé watched as kid, the protagonists only ever revealed their secret at a crucial point in the plot, and Chloé’s certain she hasn’t gotten there yet.

Plus, nobody knows Ladybug’s identity, and Chloé _won’t_ unmask herself before her idol does.

So for the time being, she has to content herself with the fact that one day, Adrien would understand. Then they’d be friends again, and everything will be fine.

(She’ll be fine.)

“Adrien didn’t wave at you today,” Sabrina comments curiously.

Chloé shrugs, tugging at her ponytail. “We had a disagreement yesterday, so we won’t be talking for a while.”

“Oh.” Her friend throws a glance over her shoulder. “What was the, uh, _disagreement_ about?”

She hesitates.

How truthful should she be? If Sabrina finds out Adrien agrees with Marinette, would she also turn around and call Chloé a bully?

(The thought scares her—

 _another falling-out, another friend lost._ )

“Nothing important,” Chloé decides to say, hoping Adrien can’t hear her over the light chatter in the classroom.

Sabrina squints at her. “You don’t seem all that upset about it…”

“And?” she retorts, crossing her arms challengingly. “Is it bad that I’m not upset? Should I just drop everything and bawl my eyes out just because Adrien’s not speaking to me?”

“N-no!” Sabrina cries, hands flailing frantically. “I just meant that you’re in a better mood than I thought you’d be—you know, considering everything that happened yesterday. I didn’t think you’d come to school for the rest of the week.”

“Please. Since when was I ever that dramatic?” Chloé sniffs in distaste. “Besides, I’m not going to make a fuss over something _Dupain-Cheng_ said.”

When Sabrina gives her a look of uncertainty, she adds, “And Papa bought me a really expensive bracelet from Cartier. It’s probably worth more than anything anyone in this class owns.”

Sabrina’s eyes grow wide. “ _Really_? Did you wear it when you went out to dinner last night?”

The remark catches Chloé off-guard. She’d forgotten that she told Sabrina about the reservation her father had made for her mother’s visit home. God, she’d talked about it for months, hadn’t she?

Cheeks hot, Chloé scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “Mother had to stay in New York for a fashion show, so we couldn’t go. It’s fine, though. I heard the food isn’t all that great anyways.”

(Despite how long they’ve been friends, Chloé’s never deemed it necessary to tell Sabrina about Audrey’s absence.

That is—everyone knows she’s away, enjoying success in America, but nobody knows how _gone_ she really is. One of Chloé’s earliest memories is coming home from a playdate with Adrien and watching her mother pack up and leave for New York.

When Chloé tells Sabrina, “My mom is overseas for most of the year, and my dad gets home from work pretty late sometimes,” she really means _i feel like i’m always on my own._

But nobody understands that except for—

Adrien.)

Perplexed, Sabrina places a hand on her chin. “Didn’t that restaurant get three Michelin stars though?”

Chloé glares at her.

Her friend jumps in her seat, raising her hands defensively. “Or I could be wrong!”

Rolling her eyes, Chloé settles back in her seat and desperately wishes for Hawkmouth to make his next move. The sooner she could make her first appearance as Queen Bee, the better things would be. She’s sure of it.

 

\--

 

“School is a very interesting place,” Pollen says when they’re back home, safe in her bedroom. The kwami nibbles on her croissant, which she’d taken a great liking to ever since they’d had one for breakfast in the morning.

Chloé flops onto her bed and squishes her face against her pillows. “Yeah,  _super_ interesting. Especially history.”

“I agree! That was by far the most exciting class you went to today, _Ma Reine_ ,” Pollen replies enthusiastically, nearly dropping her snack.

She sounds so delighted that Chloé doesn’t have the heart to tell her she was only being sarcastic. Instead, she props her head up with her hand and asks curiously, “You’ve never been to a school before?”

Pollen shakes her head. “Not to one like this—but I’ve accompanied my previous holders to lessons with their private tutors before. This experience was very different, though.”

Chloé can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Collège Françoise Dupont isn’t as fancy as having your own governess, I guess.” She looks up thoughtfully. “Oh, but Adrien was homeschooled for a while. Does that count?”

The kwami hesitates. “Adrien is the boy you told Sabrina about? The one you fought with?”

Awkwardly, Chloé tugs at her ponytail. “Yeah...but I don’t really wanna talk about that. It’ll just annoy me.”

“I apologize, My Queen,” says Pollen, flustered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was only trying to learn more about you.”

“You’re trying to get to know me?”

This is new. Usually, the people she meets already know everything about her beforehand.

“Of course,” Pollen replies, beaming. “We’ll be together for a long time, after all. I’ve been good friends with all the Queen Bees of the past, and I don’t see why it should be any different this time.”

Chloé averts her gaze, but she’s secretly pleased.

(Her mom is in New York, her dad is at work, but now, Pollen is here.)

“Speaking of Queen Bee,” she says after clearing her throat, “when do you think Hawkmouth will finally do something? I want to make my debut already.”

Pollen’s smile becomes a bit crooked. “Hawk _moth_.” She settles onto Chloé’s bed, finishing off the rest of her croissant. “And it’s a good thing if he doesn’t do anything for a while—it means the kwami of the Butterfly Miraculous can rest. In fact, it’d be ideal if Hawkmoth could just _stop_ doing what he’s doing.”

She pauses when she sees Chloé’s expectant stare. Sighing, Pollen concedes, “But I suppose that another Akuma attack could happen soon. Then you’ll be able to make your first appearance as Queen Bee.”

With an excited shout, Chloé sits up, pumping her fists. “Ugh, I can’t wait! I can see the headlines now—‘Paris’s New Superhero: Queen Bee!’”

Amused, Pollen gets up from her bed and hovers in front of her face. “Remember, the important thing is to work together with Ladybug and Chat Noir. It won’t do you any good if you just focus on being in the limelight and act on your own.”

“I know, I know,” Chloé says distractedly. She grabs her phone to scroll through all the photos she’d taken with Ladybug. “I’ve been dreaming of a chance like this for forever. I never thought I could actually save Paris together with Ladybug!”

Pollen floats over to a spot just above her shoulder and chuckles at a blurry photo of Ladybug’s surprised expression. “You must like her a lot.”

“ _Please_ , I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t love Ladybug.” Chloé tosses her hair back. “But I’m pretty much her biggest fan—and probably her favorite.”

The kwami nods knowingly. “Ladybug and Chat Noir have always been well-loved, no matter the place or time.”

Without looking up from her phone, Chloé shrugs. “Chat Noir’s okay, I guess, but Ladybug’s much better.” She lifts her head and raises her eyebrows. “Right?”

Again, Pollen smiles, but it’s polite and a little strained. “All the Ladybugs and Chat Noirs who have worked together throughout history have always insisted on being called equals. They’re each powerful on their own, but as a team, they’re unmatched. We’ve never dwelled on who is better than the other, but we know they are better when they are together.”

“I mean, that’s nice and all,” Chloé interjects, “but if you look at it objectively, don’t you think Ladybug does a lot more? She’s the one who purifies the Akumas and gets everything back to normal. I’d say Chat Noir is more of a...sidekick.”

“So, by that logic, would Queen Bee be a sidekick too?”

“No way!” she gasps. “I’m going to be bringing a lot to the team! Ladybug _needs_ my help!”

When Pollen doesn’t answer, Chloé continues, “Look, I’m not saying Chat Noir does  _nothing_ —I just think he could do a lot more than what he actually does.”

Without showing any sign that she agrees or disagrees, the kwami bows her head. “I respect your right to have your own opinions, My Queen. Just keep in mind that both Ladybug and Chat Noir will be your partners, and it’s essential that you understand your dynamic with each of them in order to work well as a whole.”

Pouting, Chloé crosses her arms. “I know—you don’t have to keep telling me this kind of stuff. I’m not dumb.”

“Of course not,” Pollen says gently. “I would never think that, Chloé. I just want to prepare you for your first mission.”

“Which better happen soon,” she whines. “I want to have fans already.”

Chloé turns off her phone and falls back onto her comforter; she stares up at her ceiling, momentarily lost in her thoughts. Beside her, Pollen sinks down again, placing herself onto a pillow.

“Pollen?” she asks.

“Yes, _Ma Reine?”_

“Do you think Ladybug is as famous in America as she is here?”

A ghost of a smile appears on Pollen’s face. “It’s possible. The world has always been enamored with heroes. That’s something that transcends language barriers, I think.”

Chloé nods, pensive.

( _But_ , she thinks; she doesn’t need to transcend any language barriers.

Just the one that’s standing between her and her mother.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **chloe:** if you need anything, i'm available 24/6  
>  **adrien:** don't you mean 24/7?  
>  **chloe:** no bc saturdays are "hang out with sabrina" days


End file.
